Dust
by cRaZy.As.ThEy.SaY
Summary: Demi has lived in Virginia practically her entire life, perfectly normal kid, right? Have you met her dad?
1. Arrival

**CHAPTER ONE: **Arrival

**Disclaimer:** I laugh at you if you think I own Suzanne Collins's The Underland Chronicles. If I did, I wouldn't be writing fanfiction!

* * *

"I don't want to live here."

The fifteen-year-old in the backseat of the cab leaned her head against the window. Tendrils of silver-brown hair dangled in her face lazily as the murky brown eyes looked out the window at the slow-passing buildings and bright neon lights of Times Square.

"Demi, this won't be the worst thing to happen to you, it's just a new city." Her father insisted, ruffling her hair in the fatherly way that many children know as a sign of comfort.

Demi was not comforted by the simple gesture. She was disgusted, repulsed, that her parent would uproot her from Virginia and drag her to New York against her will. It didn't make sense to her. Why was it so important that they move? There wasn't any new job. The family of two was just moving into Demi's grandparent's old apartment. Mr. Guerrier had insisted it was a change of pace and wouldn't last long, that it was going to be good for the both of them.

The cab stopped at an apartment complex, screaming with the look of near abandonment.

Stepping out of the cab first, Demi Guerrier was rather tall for her age, and lanky. The straight silver-brown hair rested on her shoulders, though the bangs hung over her eyebrows with the look of neglect that over seven hours travel could give a girl. The heart-shaped face was marred by a look of utmost terror and shock.

"Dad, I'm not staying here." She whispered to the tall, tan man fetching two duffels from the trunk. "It's probably haunted…or worse, rat-infested."

Mr. Guerrier chuckled as he walked past his daughter, handing her dark blue bag to her. The teen buckled with the weight of her combined clothes, books, and scooter in the bag, squeaking as the blue canvas-like material duffel brought her to an awkward position (her knees locked together, slightly bent and her arms straining while her hands gripped the black handles).

Despite one's belief, she was terrified of rats. Baby rats, big rats from the sewers, small rats from inside their old kitchen in Virginia…she couldn't watch _Ratatouille_ because of the rats, no matter if they were cuddly and cute or not. It was almost pathetic.

Walking forward and through the doors, she dragged her duffel behind her. When her eyes met the lobby, she saw an empty lobby that reminded her of the lobby from the Tower of Terror ride in Disney World. "This place is empty." Demi said softly, hand gliding over a side table, leaving a trail of clean where before lay a layer of dust.

_What kind of place is this? _


	2. Free Fall

**CHAPTER TWO: **Free Fall

The apartment was worse than the lobby, if even possible. Everything was covered with a layer of dust. Demi dropped her bag, which she had finally been able to pick up after climbing the second flight of stairs, to the ground, causing a cloud of dust to form and swirl around her shins.

"Are. You. Kidding. Me?" she glared at Mr. Guerrier, her words as sharp as razor blades.

"Believe it or not, I grew up here."

"You said you grew up in Virginia."

Mr. Guerrier chuckled. "Well, I spent my college years in Virginia, Sweetie, not my younger years." He hugged Demi tightly and pointed to a small storage room near the end of the hall. "I slept in that room there."

"Fun…" She faked a smile and rolled her eyes, kicking her bag over to the couch, the bag making a _thump_ with every kick. "I'm going to sit here, read, and wait until you see that _this_"—she gestured with her arm around the apartment—"is what makes me want to call social services."

The words were almost completely kept to, for Demi flopped onto the dusty couch—meeting another cloud of airborne dust—pulled a book from her duffel, and curled up in the corner of the couch to read it.

Most people knew this side of Demi; the side that was most likely kept private. This was who she was, the quiet book lover who resorted to literature rather than violence. Not to mention so few people knew her as it was, it was easy to be just this, and her father accepted it, it kept her from resorting to things he had regretted when he was her age.

"What are you reading this time?" Mr. Guerrier asked in a fatherly tone of inquisitiveness. Demi looked up from the page and scowled.

"_Pride and Prejudice_." She replied coldly. "Jane Austen is what I usually read when I'm upset." The hint was obvious.

"Ah. I had to read that in high school. Hated it."

"I'm not you."

"Good point."

Silence followed the awkward end to the question and answer session. An occasional page turn was the only noise for half an hour. Demi was engulfed in her book, while Mr. Guerrier was walking around with one of his old t-shirts and wiping dust off anything he could.

!!

Over the next few days, things progressed slowly. Demi was never enrolled in a high school. Mr. Guerrier never got a new job in New York City, but insisted on daily trips on the subway to Central Park when they'd spend hours searching for something. It was during one of the off days when it was too rainy to go to the park, Mr. Guerrier insisted on doing the laundry together.

"Dad, I'm not sure if you've noticed…but the washing machines don't work." Demi pointed out at the suggestion.

"It'll be an opportunity to improve on valuable life skills, Sweetie." He already had an armful of dirty clothes ready to take to the laundry room. "Who knows, it might be an adventure."

"I'm not nine anymore, it won't work." The teen sighed, eyes returning to her book. "Why don't you go and I'll stay here? I'm still tired from yesterday." She yawned to make her point.

"It'll be better than sitting here all day. Let's put it this way, either you come help with the laundry, or I take all your books away for a week."

The murky brown eyes widened as she pressed the hardcover to her chest. "You wouldn't dare." She squeaked.

"I would. Now will you get up and help me?"

Demi stood up, arms crossed and Jane Austen sitting on the couch instead of her. "For the ransom of my books and nothing more." The response was forlorn, hopeless.

"Thank you,"

"I said it was for my books, not because I wanted to." Demi murmured, walking behind her father out of the apartment and down to the laundry room.

There she wandered around the area blindly until her eyes landed on an open grate after the last of one of the decrepit-looking machines. Swirls of what looked like steam issued from the grate, sparking her interest.

A cautious look over her shoulder found her father pounding on a front-most washer in frustration. A wild smile crossed her face at the sight, and she bent down by the grate and twisted at the top of the rusty piece of metal, looking weak as it was, until it broke away with a _clunk_.

"Dem, are you okay? Did you hurt yourself?"

Demi froze, the grate cover in her hands. "Um…yeah…yeah, I'm fine, just dropped something." She called nervously, eyes on the hole—steam-like vapor still swirling out.

"Be careful, it's not a good idea to go bumping around…we both know how you are with rats."

A nervous laugh erupted from Demi while she gingerly placed the cover on the ground and leaned towards the opening, hand braced on the nearest solid object, the side of the opening.

"Demi, I'll be right be, I need to get some detergent from the apartment. Stay here, okay?" her father called again, his voice fading in volume, most likely because he was getting further away.

"Okay!" she called, glad of his leaving, now she was free to continue what she was doing as loudly as she wanted. Demi leaned forward once again, reaching out her other hand and placed it down, expecting to find ground of some kind, but instead found air.

The force of which she put down her hand sent her into the dark, seemingly never-ending void that was left.


End file.
